


The Laws of Motion

by Heronfem



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aikidoka!Castiel, Angst, Ballet!Gabriel, Boxer!Dean, Family Feels, Fluff, I really hate those exclamation points, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 18:06:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 19,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heronfem/pseuds/Heronfem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dean is a boxer haunted by his past and frustrated by his present, Castiel is struggling to move forward after 15 years, ballet is surprisingly important, and sometimes the smallest secrets pack the biggest punch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr. The violence isn't going to pick up for a while.

It’s just too easy, Castiel thinks absently as he takes the man down to the mat for the fifth time in as many minutes. He’s getting bored of this, though watching the spiky haired kid squirm and squeak annoyances is slightly funny. Why Sensei Hansen had to pair him up with this little twerp, he’ll never know.

“Are you quite done?” he snaps finally, glowering at the man he’s pinned. His belt announces that he’s at _sankyu_ , and Castiel honestly has no idea why Sensei Hansen had asked him to spar with this strange, wriggling creature. You don’t ask a _yondan_ to spar with the _sankyu_. It’s just rude.

“Dude, what the hell?” the man demands, and Castiel has to force himself to keep his breathing steady. He’s an Aikido _yondan_ (though, really, it’s only because Sensei Hansen has a Karate background that they bother with titles in this dojo), he shouldn’t be tempted to perform a _shomen’uchi_ against such an obnoxious creature.

The man is still wriggling.

Castiel promptly pulls the _nikyo_ harder, making the man let out a wheezing gasp of pain before, finally, he slaps the floor sharply. Castiel immediately lets go, and the man rises to his feet in an admittedly glorious display of smooth muscle, his eyes bright with annoyance.

“What’d you go and do that for?”

“Because you were wriggling, and if you’re a _sankyu_ you should know better,” he tells the man primly.

“The hell is a _sankyu_?” the man demands, and Sensei Hansen floats over to introduce Castiel to Dean Winchester, middleweight boxing champion of the city, who’s only been borrowing a belt.

Things don’t get better from there.

/\/\

The thing of it is, the city has an image. That image is currently Dean Winchester, who is pretty, tough, and charming in front of a camera, not to mention endlessly polite to women, children, and most politicians. He’s a demon in the ring, a charmer on the street, and if half the red light district is to be believed, positively tender in the sack.

Castiel, in between mouthfuls of the city’s finest burgers (conveniently located in the red light district), takes all this in as his best friend lights up and bitches.

Meg is the best Dominatrix in the city, and she knows it. She doesn’t have a little black book, she has a large black laptop full of information she could use at a moment’s notice to bring the city to its collective, eager to please knees. She strong, smart, disgustingly good looking, has a Ph.d in Psychology with an emphasis on Sexuality, and can make men faint just by looking at them.

She’s also currently explaining to Castiel why he has to put up with the ignorant prick that invaded his dojo the day before.

“Sensei Hansen is one of the best in the world,” she says, in between drags on a clove cigarette. She does it just to watch men squirm. (The gay couple at the bar are both looking like just walked into the set of a porno, and can’t take their eyes off of her.) “Having his best and brightest pupil working with the famous Dean Winchester? What’s not to love?”

“I’m a _yondan_ in Aikido, I’ve never boxed in my life,” Castiel tries to snap, but it’s hard to be angry when you feel like you’re on the edge of Nirvana every time you swallow. The burgers here are obscene. Benny, the cook, is also borderline obscene today. If that damn shirt was any tighter and his pants any better fitted, the gay couple would be on their knees for him, rather than Meg.

“He’s done MMA, you’ll be fine,” Meg says, and the gay couple swoons as she takes a long drag. “Besides, didn’t you say that you wanted to learn a few new styles? You two are a match made in martial arts heaven. Accept that, and we’ll all be better off.”

Castiel snorts, and resists the urge to whimper as he takes another bite of his burger.

This isn’t going to end well.

/\/\

Sam is one of those people who likes to talk while he’s holding the bag, and sometimes it can drive Dean a little bit crazy.

“So, you’re going to be training with nonviolent martial artists?” he’s saying as Dean’s fist connect hard with the bag. He’s not using his gloves today, probably a mistake, but he hasn’t boxed bare knuckle in ages and it’s starting to really annoy him. “Isn’t that like, an oxymoron?”

“ _You’re_ an oxymoron,” Dean grumbles, even though he knows perfectly well what an oxymoron is. Sam opens his mouth to argue the point, but Dean punches extra hard, making him stumble back. “And no. They’re pretty violent when they want to be, but it’s using the other person’s violence against them.”

“Still.” Sam sways as Dean goes into a furiously fast combo, trying to stay on his feet. “You sure you wanna do this?”

“I don’t have a choice,” Dean grouches, glowering at the bag and now picturing the face of his trainer, Victor Henriksen, rather than the smug and controlled Castiel from the dojo. “Henriksen said it was either train with the Aikido guys or start looking for another gym to work in. My control’s gotten sloppy since I had to take that break, and I'm not focusing like I used to. He's sick of it.”

Sam doesn’t say anything, definitely thinking of the break that Dean took from boxing. It hadn’t been a pleasant time for anyone involved.

Dean keeps pummeling the bag, and that’s the end of that.


	2. Part 2

“Roku.”

And he’s down on the mat again, for the sixth time, and he’s completely pinned. This is humiliating past words. How the hell does this guy move so fast? It’s inhuman. Dean’s gone through hundreds of fights, and not one has ever been like this pain in the ass Aikido _sankyu_ or whatever he’s called.

So he’s up again, and Sensei Hansen is saying something about a _shomen’uchi_ , but it’s too late. Castiel, his face like some sort of stone carving, has already swung toward him, and you know what? Dean knows this move.

So he ducks it, and whacks Castiel with an open palm on the side of his head, snapping, “Will you stop that!”

The dojo goes deadly quiet, and Castiel gapes at him. Dean gets the sinking feeling that he’s just done something exceptionally stupid, and steps back. Sensei Hansen’s face is somber, and Castiel starts to look like he’s just gone into shock.

He looks around, baffled, and is confused when he sees everyone staring at him in pure shock, and a little bit of horror.

“What?”

Castiel grabs his wrist and tugs him toward the side room of the dojo. Dean yanks his wrist away, following reluctantly as Sensei Hansen turns to nod the others back into motion. Immediately, people are being thrown again, and the normal “ha!” sounds of everyone around are back in play.

As soon as they reach the side room, Castiel slides the door shut (because they have these stupid sliding doors that Dean hates- why can’t they just use knobs, like everyone else?) and turns to look at him, the first sign of real anger crossing his face.

“Why did you do that?” he demands. Dean’s taken aback.

“Look, it’s not my fault you didn’t block-“

“You weren’t following a pattern!” Castiel snaps, crossing his arms. For some strange reason, Dean wants to do just what Castiel had done earlier and pin the guy. He’s infuriating. “Sensei said-“

“Hey, he’s your Sensei, not mine!” Dean snaps back, and really, he's had enough of this. “I learned Kung Fu in a back alley from a guy who barely spoke English and didn’t stand on formality, alright? I don’t get why you guys aren’t snapping arms and shit. So stop getting on my back! I was trained to do damage, not to flow with it, and really, the fuck is that about? I don’t wanna be here with you any more than you want to be here with me.”

Something remarkably similar to hurt flashes across Castiel’s face and he says, “Fine. Leave. You think we want you here? You’re a danger to us all, and completely out of line.”

Dean rolls his eyes and brushes past Castiel, heading for the door. “Yeah, yeah. Maybe if you’d take that stick out of your ass, you’d be a better fighter.” He hesitates in the doorway, looking back. “Or did the babies out there lie when they said you’d been at your rank for nearly four years?”

Castiel goes shock white, and Dean heads out, shutting the sliding door hard behind him.

/\/\

Victor is not pleased that he walked out on Sensei Hansen when he shows up to the gym. And, being Victor, he takes it out of Dean’s hide.

“Keep those feet moving!”

Box to the ears.

“What is this, some sort of ballet recital? Give me some force here! MOVE, DEAN. Keep those arms up!”

Sharp jab to his chest.

Four hits to the ribs and stomach, and that’s enough.

So Dean does what Dean does best, and fights back. Victor gets tossed halfway across the room, and Dean lowers his leg from the roundhouse, internally hitting himself as a crowd gathers. Victor slowly stands up, and Dean bites back the urge to run. 

“Dean,” Victor says calmly, eyes glittering darkly, “where are we?”

“We’re in the ring, Sir,” he says quietly, and shit shit shit he’s starting to shake. “I’m sorry Sir, I-”

“You don’t get to make excuses, Dean,” Victor says coolly. “You’re done for the day. You have 10 minutes to get the hell out of my gym, and if you don’t have a good apology to me _and_ Hansen tomorrow we’re going to have a nice long chat about your priorities.”

Dean’s stomach drops, and this time it feels like he’s been punched in the gut, even though Victor hasn’t so much as touched him.

“Yes, Sir,” is all he says in half a whisper, and leaves the ring, ignoring the eyes on him. Sam appears out of nowhere, looking scared and somehow more like a lost puppy than he ever thought possible.

Dean lets himself be led into the lockers, and it’s with quick hands that he changes and gathers his things, Sam already holding his practice gloves. 

Today is not a good day, he thinks.

Four hours later, its slightly better with an Indiana Jones marathon, popcorn, and really good Chinese takeout, but when Sam nods off halfway through the third movie, Dean lets himself curl up under one of the couch blankets and wish for the millionth time that he could just let go of his past.

/\/\

Castiel’s sitting across the street from a gymnastics studio when Gabriel finds him. He looks lost, and as Gabriel flops down beside him he announces flatly, “Someone hit my head today.”

Gabriel considers this for a moment as he’s sipping on the massive coffee that’s really more sugar than much else. “How’re you handling it?”

“Well,” Castiel says mildly, not looking at him.

“You’re brooding,” Gabriel points out, and Castiel tears his eyes away from the studio to instead stare at the pavement. “Cas, it’s been 15 years now. You’ve moved on, I know you have. So stop beating yourself up, go find a nice girl and get laid. You told me before that you didn’t want to linger on everything, so don’t. Go. Get the hell out of here, go get some coffee, run through some katas, but go. This isn’t your place anymore.”

Castiel nods, stands up with Gabriel at his side, and heads down the street, hands shoved in his pockets. The afternoon is crisp in the way that Fall loves most, and Gabriel’s scarf, a simple green and gold affair that looks suspiciously like it’s been in a recent blockbuster movie, flutters in the wind. Castiel’s overcoat is heavy on his shoulders.

“I wish I could wear my hakama out and about,” he says out of nowhere, and Gabriel gives him a very odd look.

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do, so shut up. It’s comfortably breezy,” Castiel says stiffly, and Gabriel knocks their shoulders together because that sort of thing is better than brooding, and it’s with a quiet sigh of relief that they turn the corner, away from the gymnasts and their carefully balanced bodies.

Four hours later, Gabriel’s expected in his own studio and is there (because despite appearances, he's always on time), and it’s with very careful motions that Castiel steps inside to follow the exercises of the beginner students. Ballet was always Gabriel’s domain, and even though a shattered femur had ensured he’d never dance professionally again, he’s a good teacher, and carefully guides five boys, two girls, and one silent brother through the positions and plies of beginning ballet.

_At least_ , he thinks as he corrects Castiel’s form ever so gently, _he’s keeping himself busy_.

Castiel focuses on getting his feet to do fifth position again, and doesn’t notice how his brother stares.


	3. Part 3

The following morning finds Dean on the roof, slowly working through the first stretches of the day. Dawn is breaking over the city, gritty and reluctant, and the familiar blare and babble of the day is beginning. Dean slowly stretches, letting his body tell him where it hurts. Today it’s his right arm, and the ache is already beginning to set in. He’s considering the benefits of painkillers for the day when Sam stumbles outside, coffee in hand. Dean sniffs cautiously.

Italian roast. Bastard.

“Okay, what’re you trying to bribe me into doing?”

“I’m not-” Sam sees the look on his face and sighs. “I think you should apologize to Castiel and Sensei Hansen.”

“But why?” Dean demands, stealing the coffee. “And thanks.”

“Because Castiel is Castiel Novak. Gabriel Novak’s his brother.”

Dean whistles, and breaks out of his stretches to really pay attention. “I would have to piss off the brother of a guy who could destroy my career with only his feet.”

Gabriel Novak, rich, handsome, and very connected, is the cities most renowned ballet teacher. A former _premier danseur_ for the Paris Opera Ballet, he’s considered one of the cities most treasured members, and it’s rare for him not to be mentioned in the society pages. Sam, being Sam, has a bit of a crush on him.

“He’s tough, Dean. And if he wanted he could get your funding cut,” Sam says, and Dean really fucking hates it when Sam uses logic against him. “If the gym gets cut, Victor would kill you himself and you know it.”

Groaning, Dean nods, and goes back to his stretches. “Okay, okay. I’ll apologize.”

“Good.” Sam steals back his coffee. “And you’re on your diet again, remember?”

_“Sam!”_

/\/\

Castiel’s in the studio when Gabriel comes in for his morning workout, slowly lowering himself into the splits. Gabriel watches, quiet in the doorway, and it’s with very slow movements that Castiel descends. He’s almost to the floor when he cries out and falls out of it, curling up on the floor. Gabriel walks in then, carefully setting his coffee on the piano bench before going to Castiel’s side. He pounds a fist hard on the floor, teeth gritted in frustration, and nearly jerks away when Gabriel carefully touches his shoulder.

“Cas…”

“Don’t.” His voice is raw and hurt. “Don’t, just- don’t, Gabe.”

“Do you need help up?” Gabriel asks carefully.

It’s a long time before Castiel nods, and Gabriel helps him up ever so slowly. Castiel limps to the door, stiff and full of hurt, and Gabriel watches him go, worried.

But worry doesn’t help with warm-ups, so he goes to change and tries not to feel too bitter when he falls after a _jete_ he’s done a million times.

_Baby steps_ , he thinks, and does it again.

/\/\

Castiel’s not in his hakama when Dean shows up at the dojo. Instead, he’s dressed in loose sweatpants and a t-shirt that does nothing to hide his muscle, and really, he shouldn't look that good this early in the morning. He’s talking to Sensei Hansen and looks a little upset for some reason, but when Dean puts his bag in a cubby, the two turn and watch him approach.

He’s been dreading this, old fears welling up in the dark of his mind, but he still forces himself to his knees and into a full bow, shaking as it’s all he can do not to run. Sensei Hansen is of the old school, he’ll appreciate the gesture.

“I wish to apologize for my actions yesterday,” he says, and at any moment he’s expecting a foot to slam into his ribs, a slash of a willow wand over his back, and he wants to run far and fast. “I was wrong and stupid for stepping outside the outline while I’m still so new to your world.”

“You’re forgiven,” Sensei Hansen’s voice says, washing over him like a spearmint wave, sharp but soothing, and a bit of the stress in his shoulders dissipates.

There’s no words from Castiel as Sensei Hansen walks away, so Dean stays down, still fighting the urge to _run, run, run, you’re in danger!_

Then there’s the indent of knees beside him, and a hand gently touches his shoulder. He flinches, expecting pain, but the hand simply rests there, and he slowly stills under it, accepting the contact for what it is- soothing and safe.

“You were shaking,” Castiel says quietly when he’s finally done trembling. “Is Sensei really that terrifying?”

“It’s the position,” Dean whispers, lulled by the warmth in his touch. Castiel is silent, but Dean makes a weak noise of protest when he takes his hand away.

“C’mon. Let’s work a little before the students get here.” Castiel’s voice is low and calm, and Dean wants to get up, he really does, but he can’t.

“I can’t get up,” he says quietly, ashamed of how weak he sounds, but it’s the truth. Too many years of training by a man who used pain as his favorite teaching tool have left him a wreck of nerves when he’s on his knees like this, but Castiel is gently taking his hands and pulling him to his feet, and he mumbles his thanks, unable to look him in the eye.

“Let’s spar.”

/\/\

The problem, Castiel thinks, is that Dean can’t let go of his control when they’re fighting. He may say that his control isn't good enough, but it's the opposite. He just won't relax into the movements. They’re just sparring, the only ones in the room, carefully running through the easier forms ( _ikkyo, nikyo,_ and _sankyo_ , for the moment, with a few throws), but Dean can’t loosen up, and so he hits the floor hard, hits the ground like it’s a living thing he wants to hurt. He falls with perfect form, but he hits hard enough to make Castiel wince for him. He also has a high pain tolerance, and it takes a long time before Castiel can apply enough pressure to get him to at last tap out. It’s frustrating for the both of them, Dean’s training not allowing him to flow with the movements and Castiel’s not letting him fight back the way that Dean’s expecting.

After a _yokomen’uchi_ is met with a neat deflection by Dean’s forearm and he’s very nearly roundhoused, Castiel has had enough. Dean’s trained in the Northern Shaolin style, and specializes in the Tan Tui elements, it seems, and so he soon figures out how to work around it and pins him quick and dirty. Dean struggles, frustrated by the sudden turn of events, but Castiel presses down. Dean's made it clear just how much he hates being pinned, so he uses it against him.

“Stop,” he says softly. “Stop fighting me. Work with me, not against me. Flow, Dean. Don’t shove, flow.” Dean is shaking beneath him now. “It’s alright,” he promises. “I will never intentionally hurt you, Dean. It’s alright. You don’t have to fight back. Just work with me.”

He can feel the struggle to let go in Dean’s very limbs, and it’s a slow process when the tension eases out of him. It’s a battle, but he smiles when Dean at last goes limp. They might actually get somewhere today.

“Thank you,” he breathes, and is startled when Dean sniffles.

He immediately lets go, and Dean curls up into a little ball, clearly working through something. Castiel gently rests his hand on his shoulder, and Dean leans into him, cautious for a moment before putting his weight into it, a silent expression of trust. The two of them are quiet together, Castiel’s hand sometimes rubbing up and down over his arm. It’s a long time before Dean sits up and the two look at each other.

“You mean that, about not wanting to hurt me?” Dean asks, eyes intent on Castiel’s.

Castiel nods, a little surprised at the question. “Aikido is never about hurting. It’s about the exchange, the back and forth of energy.”

“My teacher beat all the techniques into me,” Dean says bluntly, his voice a little thick. “Broke my arm twice. My teacher, Alastair, he… He was an abusive bastard, but he was all I had. My dad worked all the time, tried to keep us in our apartment, and he would give us food if I’d go to lessons from him. I… He was triad. Made me do some stuff I’m not proud of. I did a little time for it. Met Victor there-he came in to see me, thought I had potential. Turned out that I did. I worked hard, got out of the prizefights into the big leagues. But, uh… my arm. It rebroke last year, and I nearly lost everything. I got angy, I got hurt. And I don’t really know how to handle that anymore.”

Castiel hesitates and then says, “I was a gymnast. About 15 years ago. I was 16, on my way to the Olympics, and I fell off a balance beam just right, smacked my head. I was in a coma for a year.” Dean’s eye are wide, his eyes flicking to Castiel’s temple, and he rubs the spot self-consciously. “When I woke up, I’d grown nearly 5 inches. I couldn’t walk, couldn’t balance… Definitely wasn’t a contender anymore. I had been nationally ranked and then…nothing. I couldn’t even hardly lift my hand to eat.”

His eyes are stinging and he stares at the ground, as though it’ll offer up some sort of explanation.

“Aikido gave me back what I lost. I learned hard and fast but- but I’ve gotten stuck. I’ve finally been given back my life, but I still can’t progress and it hurts. My legs... They're still a wreck. The muscles are fixed, mostly, but I can't move the way I used to, and it _hurts_.”

The room is silent, and then Dean stands, offering him a hand.

“Well. Maybe you just need a little change in your life.”

Castiel smiles through watery eyes, and takes the hand.


	4. Part 4

Things change for the so much better, and it’s Victor who calls Sensei Hansen to tell him that Dean’s kidnapped his star pupil for a few rounds at the gym. Castiel’s a hit with the other boxers, and the little girls who sneak in from the ballet studio next door to watch the boxers with envious eyes (and whom Victor is already quietly scouting) squeak and jump around in excitement when Gabriel shows up one afternoon to watch his brother spar. And spar isn’t really the right word. _Play_ is much closer, and when Castiel performs a glorious _jete_ to jump away from Dean in the ring, the crowd goes wild.

The two tussle and joke around, only sometimes doing serious boxing or MMA styled fighting, and both Victor and Sensei Hansen agree that it’s good for them. Dean’s looser in the ring, smiling again and enjoying his bouts, while Castiel has suddenly rocketed in his work with Aikido and is taking students again.

Things are good.

/\/\

Gabriel is in the middle of some barre exercises in an attempt to loosen up stiff muscles when there’s a soft knock on the wide door frame that leads into the main studio. He doesn’t bother to turn around, just looks up into the mirrors.

He whistles even as his mood plummets. _Another_ one. And this one looks intimidating, but in the way Golden Retriever puppies are.

“Well, aren’t you a tall one.”

The man in the doorway goes a bright red, scuffing his foot on the floor. “I’ve been told.”

Gabriel goes back to stretching, and the man says nothing, waiting patiently.

“I already told you lot that they aren’t poaching me for New York,” Gabriel calls when he moves to perform a ront de jambe, “I like it here, and I’m not moving.”

The man looks confused. “I’m not from New York.”

“LA then? I’m not going there either. Oh, god, you aren’t one of the Russian’s, are you? Please don’t be Russian, I can’t handle another broken limb.” He’s only half joking. The number of ballet companies who routinely come plead for him to join them is getting ridiculous, and one of the Russian companies had sent their Mafia. He had not been pleased.

The man grins, and really, that is one hell of a nice smile. He lights up the whole room, and Gabriel can already feel the niggling inclination towards liking this guy. “I’m Sam Winchester, and I’m not from any ballet company. I keep seeing you at the gym when our brother’s spar, and, um… I just kinda wondered if you might want to go out and get some coffee at some point because you’re really good looking and out of my league but I just thought I’d ask.” The last sentence comes out in a whoosh.

Gabriel’s eyebrows shoot up. “I’m out of your league? Honey, have you looked in a mirror lately?” Sam goes an absolutely gorgeous shade of red, and Gabriel laughs. “And you’re adorable. Okay, tall guy. We’ll do coffee. Or tea, because if that fluffy haired monster who calls himself the maestro down at the Opera is serious about having me do a solo, I have to watch myself. Again.”

Sam beams. “Awesome. Do you think you’re going to perform again?”

Gabriel turns to look at him, curious. “Most people would’ve focused on the “yes” bit.”

Sam’s blushing again, and he admits, “I love to watch people who can do ballet. I- well. I’m kinda too tall, and I never got to learn.”

Gabriel’s heart sinks a little. “My leg was damaged in a fall,” he says bluntly. “Shattered femur. I can’t dance like I used to.”

Sam looks confused. “Is that supposed to dissuade me from asking you out? Cause I really wasn’t joking about you being hot as hell and out of my league.”

That startles a laugh out of him, the first in quite a long time, and Gabriel shakes his head, smiling a little. “You’re quite the man, Sammy. So, when’re we doing this coffee/tea thing?”

Sam’s smile really does light up the room.

/\/\

Dean’s first bout of the professional season ends with a win, and as the crowd screams his name he looks around the darkened arena, scanning for familiar faces. He waves to a few of the ballet girls, whose parents look scandalized when they jump up and down to wave back. He’d given them free tickets, because, as Victor said, they were religious about showing up when he and Cas sparred and may as well see a real match. Sam and Gabriel are hollering, Gabriel wrapped up in a massive tan scarf that looks like it might have been Sam’s at one point despite the heat, and Sam in his normal gear. Castiel’s standing beside them, just smiling, and Dean beams at him. He hadn’t been sure he would come, but here he is, and that makes the win just so much better.

Later, when the ballet girls have stopped running around with his jacket and he’s swung them around a few times, playing tag with them despite their parents looking on in fear, he, Castiel, Gabriel, and Sam all head to the red light district for the best burgers in town.

Benny laughs when he sees them, and demands Dean come and kiss him for luck even as his gorgeous wife hip-checks him and carries out food on the house. Dean complies, partly because Benny and he go way back, and partly because Benny is a hell of a kisser. That just starts a string of laughs and cheers, and pretty soon everyone’s in a cheery mood. The city hasn’t got any big sports teams, just their boxers, and so Dean’s something of a big deal. He kisses just about everyone- the men who joke, the whores for luck, Meg when she shows up because she’s a snarky bitch and he likes that about her, Gabriel because Gabriel is drunk and an absolute _riot_ , and then when they’re just about to leave, after eating everything in sight-

Well.

He smiles at Castiel, who is resolutely _not_ blushing from the crazy number of shots he’s downed, and purrs, “One for the road?”

And Castiel, who always has more _cojones_ than anyone gives him credit for, is the one who pulls him down into his lap to kiss him absolutely senseless.

/\/\

But of course, that’s when things go wrong, isn’t it?

Things go wrong when you think you’re safe, when it’s your three week anniversary and fuck the police, you _are_ going to celebrate every week because this is the best thing ever, but-

Things.

Go.

Wrong.

Things go wrong because you may be estranged from your family, but they sure haven’t forgotten you. They haven’t forgotten your failure as a human being, they haven’t forgotten how quickly one little fall changed their lives, stole fame from them, haven’t forgotten that your legs still don’t work so great.

Things go wrong when your extremely religious family flies into town, and things go very, very wrong when your door is broken down at three in the morning and you’re dragged from your bed before you can even wake up, and your boyfriend is being clubbed in the head, and there are handcuffs on your wrists, and you’re being chloroformed.

Things go wrong, because for once, you’re happy.

“And we can’t have that, Castiel, now can we?”


	5. Part 5

Every day since they moved to different apartments, Sam’s day had begun with one word, either called in or sent via text:

“alive”

That was all Dean would ever send in that first message. If there was something else, he would wait, and separate the messages. Sam had years of “Alive” to his name, and it was the most soothing thing he could imagine, just that simple “alive”, which could make everything better.

And then-

He wakes up, and there is no text.

He checks his voicemail.

No message.  
And he shouldn’t be worried, he really shouldn’t, Dean is fine, sometimes he sleeps late. And he spent the night with his boyfriend (holy shit Dean has a boyfriend what the hell), surely he wants to laze in bed. It’s his anniversary. Third week, and they’re fluffy like that, and borderline ridiculous.

But then it’s nine, and Dean hasn’t called, and he’s getting worried. Dean doesn’t sleep late, and when you have a brother on two different anxiety medications with some very nasty mental problems who’s nearly died a few times, you just don’t forget to text them.

Dean never forgets.

So Sam calls.

And Dean.

Doesn’t.

Answer.

/\/\

Gabriel drives him to Castiel’s apartment. He’s shaking too hard to move, can’t hardly think straight, and when they see the kicked in door, the noise he makes is one of enraged pain.

They find Dean lying on the floor, unconscious, blood oozing darkly onto the floor, and _oh god oh god oh god oh god Dean you can’t leave me when everyone else has, no no no no no no nononononononono_

And then paramedics are taking his brother away, with yelling and loud noises and saying things about transfusions and scans and Sir? Are you okay?

And he opens his mouth and screams.

/\/\

Castiel slowly comes to in a soft bed. This is slightly surprising, and he looks around suspiciously as soon as his brain is functioning. It’s a nice room, if a little small, with an attached bathroom and what looks like a balcony outside of French doors. There’s a soft breeze wafting through, warm and gentle, ruffling his hair slightly. The bed is huge and plush and soft, and then he tries to move his arm.

He’s cuffed to the headboard.

“Kinky,” he says dryly, and the main door opens to reveal his brother.

Michael. Fantastic.

“Michael,” he says coolly. “You’ve gone gray. I thought your vanity wouldn’t allow for that.”

Michael’s eyes flash, and he steps aside. Castiel’s stomach sinks as Zachariah steps in, dark and smiling.

“Cassie! So good to see you!”

And Castiel has clearly spent too much time around Dean, because he smiles with all the cheek he can muster and says, “Aw, Uncle, I’m sure you say that to all the boys you kidnap and chain to your bed, you sick bastard!”

And that makes Zachariah’s smile drop.

It’s a small victory, because then he’s slapped, hard. 

“You filthy whore,” Zachariah hisses. “You filthy fucking whore, sleeping with men. You were taught better, you disgusting sack of shit. We saw you in bed with him.”

Castiel spits out blood onto the nice clean bed. “And I’ve never been happier,” he rasps, and gets hit again.

“It’s bad enough that you destroyed us,” Michael snarls. “Must you damn yourself as well?”

And Castiel looks up at him, and his rage is boundless when he snarls, “I was damned the minute I was born, brother. I’m who I am, and nothing, not even your fucked up beliefs, are going to change that.”

Michael looks disappointed, and Zachariah nods.

“Take him to the garage. Make him suffer, I have a meeting. And when you’re done?”

“The river, I know,” Michael snaps. “I’m not an idiot, Zachariah.”

And Castiel smiles inside, because really, they are such idiots.

/\/\

“Welcome back.”

It’s Victor talking, and it’s all Dean can do just to open his eyes. He looks around groggily, and flails a little when he sees the monitors he’s hooked to. There are wires everywhere, long and ugly looking, attached to his body, and he’s screaming for Victor to take them out because

_Dad and antiseptic and quiet words and “cremate me, scatter me by your mother” and coffee spilled on the floor when Sam ran in and Dean hobbling behind and screams and loud voices and Sammy, Sammy, stop crying-_

“What the hell is going on?!”

Cold hands on his chest.

“We don’t know sir, he just woke up and the monitors went crazy-”

“It’s a panic attack, I should’ve eased him into it, he hates hospitals-”

_Sammy Sammy Sammy Sammy Victor please help no no no no no get them off get them off don’t touch me I’m sorry I’ll be good lao shi, I’m sorry lao shi, I’m sorry please no no no no no no no no Victor please make them stop make them stop m a ke… th…em….._

his head lolls back.

There’s a hand on his forehead, and Victor’s talking softly to him, his voice gently crooning the lyrics to “Enter Sandman” in his ears and his hand reaches up, scrabbling blindly for Victors, and it connects.

“There you are,” Victor says quietly, and he sounds so gentle. “Welcome back, Dean.”

“Sammy,” he says weakly, and there’s an enormous exhale in the room. One of the nurses sits down heavily in a chair. “Where’s Cas and Sam?”

Victor squeezes his hand. “Sam’s just outside. He thought it might be better if I was the one there when you woke up, since you’re prone to punching people. He's safe and just fine. A little pissed at you, but fine.”

That gets a wan smile that quickly fades.

“Where’s Cas? Is he okay? I think it was burglars that broke in- They hit my head-”

Victor’s looking at him seriously, and Dean feels panic try to well up.

“Am I sedated?”

“Mostly. If it wasn’t for all the adrenaline in you right now, you’d be dead to the world,” Victor says, and his voice is somber. “Dean, Castiel was taken.”

He stares.

“The hell do you mean, _taken_?”


	6. Part 6

The garage they drag him down to is filthy with grease, soot, and old blood. It’s a stark contrast from the rest of the house, which he has a sneaking suspicion may be in one of the old blood districts of the city. The rest of the house is spotlessly clean, brilliantly white, but he has no doubt that if you shone a black light over the immaculate tile, there would be endless bloodstains. He grew up in a house very similar, after all. He knew how Michael worked.

Michael isn’t gentle, keeping both his hands cuffed and dragging him forward with his jaw, talking the whole time.

“I just really don’t understand why you picked men to fuck,” he’s saying as he shoves him to his knees. He’s been following in this vein for quite some time.

_Idiot_ , Castiel thinks, face mild as Michael rages above him, waving a gun around like it’s nothing. _Don’t you know that I’m trained to fight from my knees? Didn’t you pay any attention to what I’ve been doing these past 15 years? Did you ever think to check in on me? Do you know that my martial art, what I’ve trained for 15 years in, has a specific style fought entirely from the knees?_

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

_Lots of things, you insignificant flea._

He pretends to be listening to Michael, even as he sits back on his heels, fingers carefully feeling around the edge of his pants.

Sensei Hansen liked to tell the story of a man he’d known who’d been kidnapped by a rival gang, and had escaped with only a bobby pin after carefully picking the lock on his cuffs. Castiel had been about 19 when he first heard the story, and the next week he came in with a bobby pin and a set of professional grade handcuffs courtesy of Meg. He’d spent three weeks worth of lessons on his knees, learning the art of lockpicking, and once he’d mastered it, he began to carry a bobby pin with him at all times.

Thankfully, this time it had been slid onto the hem of his sleeping pants, and is easily slipped off to twitch the lock open in a matter of seconds, and Castiel smiles when Michael is in mid rant.

“What’re you smiling about?”

“I’m about to break your nose,” he says mildly, and makes his move.

/\/\

Dean’s loading up the Impala with every weapon he has not two hours after his release from the hospital with strict orders not to be an idiot. He’s packing everything, up to and including the kitchen knives, when police cars scream past him and his phone rings. 

He pulls out of his pocket, and blinks in confusion when he doesn’t recognize the number. Not many people have his personal number, so he hesitantly lifts it and says, “Hello?”

“Hi, Dean.”

“ _Cas_? Oh my god, Cas, are you okay? Where are you?” He leans heavily against the Impala, shock making his legs weak.

“I’m just fine. There’s some bruising on my knuckles and wrists, but no permanent damage. I’m at a town house in the upper district.” Castiel sounds entirely too nonchalant about this fact, but Dean is already moving, jumping in the car to go to him. Baby snarls to life with appropriate aggression, and Dean lets the noise soothe some of his nerves. Castiel is there, talking to him, and he’s safe. Thank fucking God.

“What the hell happened?”

“Oh, the usual…”

“The fuck is the usual, Cas?” Dean demands, merging into traffic and laying on the horn when someone tries to get in front of him. They back off, mostly because no one wants to mess with a car as aggressive looking as the Impala.

“Kidnapping, attempted murder, slurs hurled at me,” and for the first time, Castiel’s voice is quavering. “I have them subdued, and the police are here, but Dean?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” Dean says, desperate to keep hearing his voice.

“Dean, I wanna go home.” He sounds so young, so scared, and Dean puts the pedal to the metal, because fuck this, no one is keeping him from his man any longer.

/\/\

Dean is recognized the moment he gets out of the car, and is a little surprised when the police lift the tape for him to step under. But then there’s Victor, back rigidly straight in a stiff suit, and he remembers. Victor used to be FBI, of course he can pull strings. The look that Victor gives him as he walks up makes him think of the man he met when he was in jail, staring through the glass at imperious eyes and a devilish smirk.

“You look like you wanna bash some heads,” Dean murmurs as he goes to stand by him, desperate to go to Cas but knowing that he can’t until he’s cleared. “Either that or pull out a gun and go to town.”

“You need to see this,” is all Victor says, and leads him into the house, forcing him to put on booties. 

The house is clean, disturbingly so, and Dean’s skin crawls when he sees the only real color in the house, a painting in the sitting room. It’s of Gabriel and Castiel, along with 9 other people, all looking rather unhappy. Castiel’s young, maybe 16, entirely too sweet looking, and Gabriel looks haunted, gaunt, eyes dull even in paint. Behind them both stands a man with dark black hair, squeezing their shoulders, and Dean sincerely hopes that it was just the artist who shoved in the darkness in his eyes, the cruel set of his mouth.

The place is so very white, even the pale brown wood that makes the banister of a slightly curved staircase that leads to the upstairs upsets the eyes. And then they’re walking into the kitchen, and there’s blood all over the floor, and Castiel’s sitting rigidly at the table, chin up and expression as cold as any King in court.

Someone is taking his fingerprints, and Dean can’t move, dizzy with relief at the sight of him. Victor catches his arm, keeping him steady, and calls, “Castiel?”

Castiel’s head whips around so fast that by all rights he should have whiplash, and it’s only the extremely annoyed noise from the fingerprinter that keeps him in his seat. Dean moves to go to him instead, but Victor clucks his tongue, keeping him in place.

A few seconds later, the sharp click of heels is heard, and Dean winces. He knows the sound of those heels, and sure enough-

“Winchester. How shocking. Victor, why is he in my crime scene?”

Dean turns his best smile on Detective Diane Ballard, who tries not to smile but doesn’t succeed.

“Hey, Detective Ballard. How’ve you been, and can I go see my boyfriend now?”

Diane Ballard, dainty, blonde, and entirely too good for all of them, rolls her eyes and nods. Dean beams, and teases, “You always were my favorite.”

Castiel looks relieved when he drops his arms around him from behind, peppering kisses in his hair.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, sweetheart. What’d you do to them?”

“Take a look.”

In the middle of the kitchen floor sit two men, both bound and gagged very effectively with duct tape. One’s unconscious, the man with black hair from the painting, and the other-

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up.

“The hell did you do to his arm?”

Castiel looks slightly sheepish. “I, uh…I may have broken it. In four places. And dislocated his shoulder. And shattered his patella. I forgot to be gentle. Oh, and that’s my uncle. His name is Zachariah, and he’s an assbutt”

“Jesus, Cas, I fucking love you.” And then Dean’s pressing kisses all over him, and his heart has finally stopped pounding, and yes everyone’s cooing, but when he sinks to his knees to lean his head against Castiel’s thigh he finds himself crying.

“What’s wrong?” Castiel asks, and Dean smiles though the tears.

“I’m just really happy you’re alive.”

/\/\

Castiel holds his arm when they walk into the garage where he was going to be murdered, and Dean’s very nearly sick. There are blood spatters all over, and Castiel says quietly, “Most of it’s his.”

He’s got a bandage wrapped around his bicep, where he’d fallen and scraped himself up in a bad way on an ugly iron poker that Dean can see shoved up in a barrel.

Once again he’s kissing Castiel’s forehead, staring at the grimy floor.

“He’s your brother?”

“Michael. The eldest. It’s him, Lucifer, Uriel, Anna, Raphael, Gabriel, me, Inias, Ion, and Samandriel, but we just call him Alfie,” Castiel rattles off, and Dean pulls him closer, nuzzling at his hair.

“Sweetheart, we’re gonna have to have a long chat about our lives one of these days.”

A bloody mess on the floor is disturbed when a fly lands, and Castiel silently pulls him away, and they leave the house in the Impala, an armory in the trunk.

/\/\

Two days later, Gabriel wakes up to screams.


	7. Part 7

Gabriel lives in a house.

This, for the Winchesters, seems like the most bizarre thing in the world. Dean, who is fairly well off thanks to prize fights and an adoring public who turn out to watch his matches, doesn’t have a house, and neither does Sam. They both have apartments, both on the side of town that tourists are urged to avoid. They are lost at the idea of living in houses, great sprawling estates with too much space. What do you do with it?

But Gabriel has a house, a place in the suburbs with a massive yard that Castiel tends to on the weekends, and it’s huge.  
It’s a nice house, brick and siding, with massive bay windows and sloped roofs. It looks a little like a cottage, actually, and with the pool in the back and the converted pool house that’s now a studio, it’s like something from a fairy tale book. The look Dean had given it when they arrived following Castiel’s rescue had been a mix between baffled and amused. It’s tall, two stories, and there’s a little tower sticking off of one side that acts as Gabriel’s office.

The kitchen is immaculate, the sitting room is dusty, and even though it’s obviously lived in, when they step inside to stay together for a few days to recuperate, there’s this stab of loneliness throughout the house that permeates the very air. 

Sam hasn’t left Dean’s side since what they’re calling “The Incident”, and Castiel refused to sleep alone, so Gabriel found himself alone in a too-big bed while three people curled up on the full in one of the as-yet unused guest rooms.

And then come the screams.

/\/\

Gabriel curses with words he didn’t know he knew, and is almost out of bed when the pain hits. Cursing every god in the world for doing this to him, he grabs his cane, a big ash affair that had been a gift from Castiel, and slowly levers himself upright to thunk down the hall to the room the other three are in.

Dean is in a corner, eyes squeezed tightly shut as he screams, mostly in broken Chinese. Castiel’s cowering in bed, eyes so huge there’s white all around the iris, and Sam is trying to console Dean, crouched in front of him as he tries to talk to him.

Gabriel promptly beans the screamer with his cane, and Dean abruptly shuts up.

“That’s better.”

Dean stares at him, blank eyed and clearly confused.

“Why’d you hit me?” he asks, and Gabriel really doesn’t have the patience for this.

Growling, he just turns on his heel, the one on his good leg, and stumps from the room to go and get some coffee. If the three in there are having the inevitable feelings talk, he’s having no part of it.

/\/\

Sam finds him in the small studio, running through warm up drills like a madman. He watches from the doorway for a while, stupidly handsome in just loose sweats and a too-huge t-shirt (where it came from no one knows). Gabriel ignores him in favor of listening to the sharp woman’s voice that’s announcing what positions he should be in, how fast he should be going, and just how much it should hurt. And oh, god, it hurts. He hasn’t hurt like this in years, but now he’s out here, torturing himself as his leg screams with pain, pushing through it.

When the recording finally ends, he barely manages to hold fifth position for a few seconds before falling with a heavy _thud_.

Sam’s at his side in an instant, silent as he helped him sit back up.

They sit in silence for a long time before Sam asks meekly, “Is it always this bad?”

Gabriel shakes his head, eyes stark with pain as he rubs at his leg. “No,” he says. “Sometimes it’s worse. Most of the time I’m fine, I function better without the cane. But tonight…” His voice trails off, and Sam kisses his temple, running his nose in a soft line up and down his cheek. It’s a soothing motion, and slowly the tension slides from Gabriel’s shoulders, leaving him curled in Sam’s arms.

“You’re beautiful, you know?” he says quietly. “Stunning.”

“I’m really not,” Sam murmurs. “But you are.”

They sit silently in the studio, and when the sun rises hours later, it’s to them asleep, curled up together.

\//\

Dean and Castiel are sitting at the table when they come in, Castiel’s hands shaking as he lifts a coffee mug to his lips. Dean is staring blankly at the bacon on his plate, as though trying to figure out how, exactly, it got there.

Sam hugs him, and Dean hugs back absently, as though operating on autopilot. Gabriel lifts an eyebrow to Castiel, who shakes his head in sharp little jerks, and stares at his cup. Dean looks like he’s been through a war, a sort of shell-shocked dullness that Gabriel’s seen more than once in his students who’ve been yelled at by demanding parents or have come back to him after being released from service in one of the ballet companies.

“Dean?” Sam says gently, trying to get him to look at him. But Dean’s just staring blankly ahead, unseeing, and so breakfast passes in silence.

/\/\

Dean doesn’t have training that day, but he goes anyway, and when he walks in all Victor does is silently point him over to Tiny. Tiny, who was his cellmate for two months, just gives him a sympthatetic look and they go to it, Victor prowling around them as Dean works his feet and fists without his gloves.

The nightmare hovers over him, Alastair’s voice hissing cruelty in his ears, and it’s only until he’s screaming again, falling to the floor with his hands over his ears, that he remembers his place.

This is becoming a problem, and when he wakes up in a hospital again, too sedated to panic, all he can think is _shit_.


	8. Part 8

The therapist’s office is nice. Lots of dark wood, big books, huge comfy chairs, and suitably grandmothery afghans tossed over the back of couches. Dean’s curled up in one of the chairs, staring at the floor and his bare toes curling over the edge of the soft chair, and the therapist is giving him the once-over.

“Boy, this is not the first time we’ve done this. You gonna keep this up?”

Dean’s eyes flick up to Ms. Mosely’s familiar face, and shakes his head minutely.

“Glad to hear it. So, what’re we talking about today?” She settles her hands on her stomach. “We talkin’ match scores?”

Dean’s eyes brighten slightly, and he sits up a bit. 

“Match scores it is.”

Missouri Mosely, whose office is in her house in the suburbs, was the woman who offered her time as a therapist in the prison Dean had been in. He’d ended up in her office after a fight, and just about cried when she offered him a cookie. She has a rule, a simple one, and that is that they’re gonna talk while in session, though about what is up to him. Dean likes her, and so it’s her he goes when the hospital assigns him psychiatric visits after the attacks get worse. He's still stuck in the hospital, bussed out to her home every day before he's too drugged up to talk, and at this point he's okay with it.

He’s in the middle of a sentence about Victor teaching the ballet girls to punch when he shakes his head and looks at her, really looks at her.

“Dean?”

“I’m so scared,” is all he says, a little stunned at the revelation. “I just keep dreaming about him over and over, dead on the floor of that damn garage and his fucking brother walking away from it without a goddamn look back.”

Missouri gives him a long look before she lifts the walkie-talkie she keeps on the table, and flicks it to the channel she and her secretary use. “Cancel my lunch break, Daphne, I officially have other plans.”

/\/\

Gabriel is under spotlights, and he’s terrified.

He shouldn’t be, really. He’s done this routine so many times, run through it so much he could probably do it in his sleep, but right now that doesn’t matter. He’s scared, and the _maestro_ is saying “From the top, Bernard,” and he can _feel_ how he’s shaking, but then-

He’s on pointe.

And he’s dancing under spotlights that follow him, long graceful forms that keep him easily floating through the air, and really, the fear is still there but it’s faded, the dance is simple and elegant, and he loses himself to the music and the joy that swells, and when he lands with a final _fouetté rond de jambe en tournant_ that pauses to a simple bow, there is silence in the room.

His heart sinks.

And then there’s a muffled sob, and the rest of the cast are in the audience, cheering, and really, there’s nothing else for him to do but cry when four of his former students run out to hug him so tight he can barely breathe.

/\/\

Sam shows up about an hour after his session, smiling when he sees him sitting up and reading. For the past week he’s been so heavily sedated he barely moves, so seeing him even vertical is amazing. The room is covered in flowers and greenery, and Sam grins when he sees one particularly flowery bouquet came from Tiny, and a massive ficus tree from the mayor stands in the corner.

Castiel, who’s sitting next to him asleep in his chair, lets out a little snuffling noise when Dean calls his name. Sam just laughs, walking in to gently shake him awake. 

“Cas, c’mon, wake up,” he grins, and Castiel slowly wakes up, eyes bleary.

“Whas go’n on?” he mumbles, and Dean laughs, even if his voice is slow and groggy. His heartbeat is much slower than normal, Sam takes in from the machine, so he must still be pretty heavily dosed, but lighter than normal.

“I’ve got news for both of you,” Sam explains, sitting on Dean’s bed and ruffling his hair because he can. Dean makes a belated attempt to swat him away, and only succeeds in letting his hand fall onto Sam’s shoulder. “Hey, stop that. Gabriel went and danced for the _maestro_ today.”

That gets Castiel to sit up and pay attention.

“And?”

Sam beams. “They want him to dance again. You should have seen him, Cas, it was amazing!”

“He danced onstage again?” Castiel demands, a huge smile on his face. “I’ve got to go congratulate him- Dean, are you-”

Dean waves him off, saying with a clumsy mouth, “Tell him he did good.”

“I will.” Castiel kisses his forehead and rushes out the door, leaving Sam to push Dean over.

“Okay, you. I know you _can_ read, but do you want me to? I’ve got plenty of time, and nothing to do but bug you for the next hour,” Sam grins, settling in, and Dean hands over his book, carefully pointing at the line he was at. “Ooooh. Good choice, even if it is one of mine that you stole.”

Dean just shrugs, sitting back, and Sam clears his throat.

“You seem a decent fellow, Inigo said. “I hate to kill you.” “You seem a decent fellow,” answered the man in black. “I hate to die.”

Sam smiles when he feels Dean lean into him, reading over his arm, and the afternoon dissolves into Florin, and a fantastic sword fight between the mysterious man in black and Inigo Montoya.

/\/\

“Gabriel?”

“Kitchen,” is the answering call, and Castiel hurries in to see his brother staring at a pile of pictures. The smile on his face slides off, and he sits down next to him. 

“Gabriel?”

Gabriel’s holding a candid shot with the two youngest, Ion and Samandriel, with a seven year old Samandriel beaming at the camera with Ion looked away, smiling at someone off frame. Gabriel looks sad, eyes a little watery as he clutches the Polaroid.

“Ion called. One of the stage crew took a short video of part of my performance. Put it online. Samandriel saw it, showed him. He cried.” Gabriel’s voice cracks. “I was talking to him and he fucking _cried_ , Cas. They’re in Baltimore, didn’t even know what happened to Michael and Zachariah. Michael’s their fucking guardian, Lucifer’s living in Paris with some new mistress, Raphael and Uriel are apparently in New York, Anna’s doing humanitarian work in Mogadishu, and Inias- Inias lives not 20 miles from here. And I just inherited custody of two- two of my brothers.”

His voice is shaking, and Castiel’s staring at him, stunned.

“Mogadishu?” he says blankly, like that’s what he should latch onto. “Like, Somalia?”

“Yeah. Fuckin’ Somalia.” Gabriel sifts through the pictures and pulls up one of a teenage Anna in harem pants and some sort of ripped up t-shirt. She’s got bangles all up and down her arms, and she looks so _happy_. Castiel picks up another, this one of Inias holding a baby Samandriel. His eyes are tender, and he can’t be more than 9.

“What’re you going to do?” he asks quietly.

Gabriel stands up, leaning on his cane. “I’m gonna call Sam, and I’m going to go file for custody of our baby brothers.”

“Gabriel,” Castiel says hesitantly, “You said once that you never wanted to deal with their ilk again.”

Gabriel pauses. “Huh. Well. I guess I lied.” He’s almost to the doorway when he turns, eyes somber. “Cas… The shitstorm that’s gonna come when people know we’re here-”

“I’ll be ready,” Castiel says quietly. “Just bring my family back home.”

Gabriel nods silently, and Castiel sits at the table as sunlight streams softly in to the warm kitchen, looking at old pictures of smiles that no longer work, and wonders how he could have destroyed what was once so perfect.


	9. Part 9

Ion and Samandriel come by train the same week that Dean is officially discharged from the hospital.

Sam, Gabriel, and Castiel are standing on the platform, Gabriel stock still and face dead terrified as they watch the train slow to a stop. Castiel looks like he’s going to be sick, and Sam’s rubbing Gabriel’s back like that’ll somehow help. The train is massive, gunmetal gray and sleek, and when people pour off of it it’s obvious that Gabriel desperately wants to turn and run.

Their eyes scan through the crowd, searching for the two charges, and then-

There they are.

Ion has Castiel’s looks, dark hair, strong jaw, intense eyes. His are brown, but he’s got the same drive to him, the same power settled around his shoulders like a cloak. This is a boy, nearly man, who has seen too much in a short time, and learned to live with it. He has his hand on Samandriel’s shoulder, and Sam takes in a little breath at the way that they move like a unit, reading each other perfectly. They’ve been together a long time, and he knows the look. He and Dean have it when they’re out together. They’re protective of each other, and their bond is strong. Samandriel looks more like Gabriel- he’s dainty, dirty blonde that’s closer to brunet, and soft eyes. He hasn’t been hardened by the world yet, but he’s still young enough to be corrupted by the darkness of the world.

Castiel bolts for them, and Samandriel tears himself away from Ion to run for him, the two crashing together in a tangle of arms and luggage and tears, and then Ion is slamming into them and Castiel is kissing foreheads and holding them close.

Sam stays back as Gabriel walks over, hesitant, only to be nearly bowled over by a crying Samandriel who runs to hug him.

Gabriel holds him so tightly it looks like it hurts, and Sam’s heart warms as he watches the two of them hold each other, as if they’ll never let go.

/\/\

The ride home is interesting.

For one thing, it’s in the Impala. For another, Sam is bombarded with questions from Ion about Dean, the city, what he’s doing (school mostly, with a tiny side job in a book store with such sad hours it’s really pointless), how long as the car been his (which makes Castiel laugh in near hysterics), and if the schools are good.

Samandriel has his arms linked through his brothers, who have both been forced to sit in the back with him, and every five second he’s either looking up at Gabriel in awe or nuzzling into Castiel, as if checking to make sure he’s still actually there. It shouldn’t be as cute as it is, but it’s really adorable. When they finally arrive at Gabriel’s house, Ion scrambles out with the keys to get their gear, and freezes when he sees Dean leaning on the gate, a lazy smile on his face.

“Dean!” Castiel climbs out, beaming. “You’re outside!”

“Thought I’d take a walk to work up some strength,” Dean explains, and Sam’s heart swells. Dean’s voice is still a little slurred, something that drives him crazy, but the sedatives he’s under are so much lighter, he can finally start walking around and exercising again. Missouri’s done wonders with him. It’s been a long time since Dean looked this light, as though nothing was weighing him down but gravity itself.

Castiel goes over and kisses him over the gate, making Samandriel squeak and cover his eyes. Dean’s smiling so wide it looks like his face should split when they pull back, and he nuzzles their noses together to make Castiel laugh before opening the gate and coming out to help with the baggage. Ion just looks like he’s going to faint. Gabriel’s already got Samandriel’s backpack, and together they all drag the baggage into the house.

When they get inside, they’re all hit with the smell of chicken, pie, and other sweet and savory concoctions, and Sam turns a Look on Dean.

“What?” he says defensively. “I was careful! Nothing got burned. Besides, they deserve to have a nice meal now that they’re here. I’m sure the trip was long.”

“You _cook_?” Ion squeaks. He’s already looking at Dean like he hung the moon, and now it looks like he’s considering him to have hung the sun as well.

“You wanna learn?” Dean asks him, amused when Ion frantically nods his head. “Alright. I’ll have to ask Gabriel about staying the weekends sometime, and maybe I can talk Benny into teaching you to make burgers.”

Castiel makes an obscene noise at the thought of Benny’s burgers, and Samandriel looks scandalized.

“Alright, alright, kitchen talk later,” Sam says, herding them to the stairs. “Samandriel-”

“It’s Alfie.”

“…Alfie, then, your room is up on the right. Third door down. Ion, you’re on the left, second door down.”

Gabriel shakes his head, interjecting. “No, because we have all of Dean’s gear in that room right now. Ion’s next door on the left of Alfie’s.” 

“Alright then, next to Alfie it is.”

The two bolt up the stairs, Samandriel narrowly getting in front with his backpack and a smaller bag, laughing when Ion calls, “Hey, eldest first!”

When they’ve turned the corner, Dean sways, exhaling heavily before Castiel wraps an arm around his waist to brace him. “Think the adrenaline’s wearing off,” he mumbles, and Castiel kisses his cheek.

“Alright, let’s go sit you in to the living room, then.”

/\/\

Dinner is a roaring success. Samandriel cries during the prayer, thanking any listening deity for family who loves them and delivered them from darkness, Gabriel regales them with stories from his years in college where he insisted on being called Loki and causing mayhem, Castiel tells them about the past few years and how he’s learned Aikido and does medical transcription to make ends meet, Sam tells them about the city and all of the interesting things to do, and Dean stays quiet, his medication having made his tongue heavy again. It’s not as bad as it was, but he still doesn’t like talking too much when he slurs his words so badly.

Ion’s mostly quiet, absorbing everything with an awed expression.

When it comes time for bed, and Dean has retired with Castiel to the guest bedroom early to try and sleep off the days excitement, he quietly walks up the stairs with Gabriel. Sam and Alfie are downstairs excitedly talking about maybe going to the aquarium tomorrow.

They reach his room, and Ion turns to look at him.

“I’m sorry for this,” he says quietly, and Gabriel gently bats the side of his head.

“Don’t be. It’s Michael’s fault that all of this happened. Hell, if I’d known you were in Baltimore I would’ve at _least_ sent birthday cards.” Ion bites his lip, fiddling with his hands, and Gabriel’s eyes narrow. “Ion? What’s wrong? You only ever did that hand thing when you were upset or something’s gone wrong.”

Taking a deep breath, he says, “Are you… are you with Sam?”

“Romantically?”

“Yeah.”

Gabriel considers for a moment. “Kind of? We haven’t done much of anything but go on coffee shop dates and help each other out with brother stuff.”

“But…” he flounders for a moment. “Isn’t that, y’know, sin? And bad? Michael always said that if people did things like that, they were hell bound.”

Gabriel sighs. “Michael’s also a cold blooded killer who tried to murder your brother after tying him up and beating him,” he reminds him. “I’d take everything he said with a grain of salt.”

Ion’s hands still as he stares.

“He really tried to kill Cas?”

Gabriel nods. “He’d be dead now except for his training. As it is, Zachariah’s arm is so mangled he’ll probably never use it again. He tried to shoot him when he caught him trying to escape.”

Ion flinches when he hears Zachariah’s name, and Gabriel watches him for a moment. “Something you want to tell me about evil Uncle Zach?”

Ion’s eyes are trained on the floor, and he whispers, “Not today.”

Gabriel nods, eyes softening, and gently ruffles his hair. “You get some sleep, alright? Tomorrow’s gonna be a long day, with lots of paperwork. We’ve gotta figure out how I’ll manage a career and two teenagers, not to mention give you two a proper tour of the house and city.”

Ion smiles a little at that. “You think that we’ll fit in here?”

“Hey now,” Gabriel chastises. “It’s my job to _make_ you fit here. You’re family, remember?”

That gets a real smile out of him, and Ion flings his arms around him, burying his face in Gabriel’s chest. He’s still small for 17, but Gabriel’s sure that with his build, in a few months he’ll shoot up like a weed. Lucifer and Michael both did. Hugging him back, he ruffles his hair once more and pushes him gently towards the door. “Go. Rest. And if you want a lock on that door, just tell me.”

Ion looks like Christmas has come early. “I can have a lock?”

“Yes, you can have a lock.”

“Best. brother. ever,” Ion says fervently, and all but skips into his room, leaving Gabriel chuckling to head down the stairs, passing Alfie going up.

Alfie hugs him tight, and then heads into his room. Sam’s waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, smiling widely.

“You look like the cat that caught the canary,” Gabriel observes. “What’re you up to?”

“Nothing, just… It’s nice, having younger people around. I’ve only ever had Dean, and just… I’m happy that maybe I can be something of a big brother now,” he says, wrapping an arm around Gabriel’s waist as they head to the bedroom. The look in Castiel’s eye when he dragged Dean off had suggested there wasn’t a whole lot of rest actually being done, so they’d wordlessly decided that Sam would stay in his bedroom.

“I hope so too.” Gabriel leans into him, relishing the warmth and safety Sam radiates. “Hey. Are we romantically involved?”

“I sure hope so,” Sam murmurs, a wicked grin on his face. “Otherwise I am definitely taking advantage of your hospitality to get into bed with you.”

Gabriel shoves him, laughing. “Dick.”

“Oh, c’mon, you like me.”

“That I do. That I do.”

They strip down quickly, and settle into bed. Gabriel’s almost asleep when Sam’s arm slips around his waist, and slightly chapped lips softly kiss his neck.

“For the record,” Sam breathes as they nestle together, comfortably warm, “I wouldn’t complain if I never slept anywhere but your bed again.”

And Gabriel falls asleep smiling.


	10. Part 10

It’s brilliantly sunny when Ion and Samandriel stumble down the stairs, looking completely disoriented. Sam is rushing around frantically, Gabriel sitting at the table with a coffee mug about a foot tall, and Dean’s carefully making sandwiches.

“Morning, boys,” he says cheerfully, and Ion blinks at him. His voice isn’t even slightly slurred, his movements quick and easy. He looks more at home in his skin, clearly in a good mood, and when he snags a bedheaded Castiel who’s wandering back from the pantry, it’s all Ion can do not to laugh as they spar for a few seconds. Castiel’s movements are sluggish but smooth, blocking easily as Dean teasingly punches at him. Pulling him into a hug, the two nuzzle together for a moment, eyes closed and expressions peaceful.

“Ewwww,” Samandriel jokes, snagging an apple from the basket. Dean laughs, and Castiel’s smiling when he pushes away from him, heading to the table.

“Alright, you four have sandwiches,” Dean announces, passing three over to a grateful Sam. “Gabriel, your weird-ass provolone shit is ready.” 

Gabriel’s response is a stiff middle finger and another long drink from his mug.

“Alright, you two, sit yourselves down,” Dean instructs, and the two slide into their chairs, clearly stunned by the morning routine. The door closes with a slam, Sam’s voice yelling a cheery goodbye to them all. A few seconds later, the Impala can be heard roaring to life.

“So, what do you two want for lunch?” he calls, lazily twirling a knife. “You’ve got a whole city to run around today. Cas has to get you registered, Gabriel has to do filing-”

“Tell your boyfriend to stop being so damn cheery when I’m only halfway through my fix,” Gabriel grumbles, and Samandriel’s eyes widen in awe as he takes another long drink. Castiel rolls his eyes, and Ion looks a little confused.

“So…you two are actually together?” he says slowly, looking from one to another. Castiel nods absently, stealing a piece of bacon from Gabriel’s place. He gets an angry growl and hiss for his trouble.

“Ever since the first match of the season,” Dean says cheerfully, slicing tomatoes. “And yes, we were both dead drunk when we kissed, no I don’t regret it, our first date was to burgers in the red light district, and he’s so damn good to me, I’m getting spoiled.”

Castiel’s face softens into a positively adoring smile, and Ion sits back, clearly considering everything as Samandriel rattles off a list of things he wants on his sandwich.

/\/\

After Gabriel is sufficiently caffeinated, he stumps out to the small studio to do warm up for a bit, and Samandriel finds himself listening in on a soft conversation in the kitchen that really, he shouldn’t be hearing.

It isn’t his fault- he just walked into the pantry to see if Gabriel still likes a particular kind of cereal he can faintly remember him eating when they were little, and then Dean and Castiel started talking.

“Dean, please,” Castiel’s saying, voice soft but insistent. “I don’t want to go through this again, it was terrifying enough the last time.”

“Cas, I just want to feel _normal_ for a day,” Dean says, and Samandriel wants to hug the guy, he sounds so miserable. It’s a stark contrast from the enthusiasm of earlier, and now he has to wonder if it was an act put on for everyone else’s benefit. “The drugs slow me down- I feel like I’m wading through molasses, like- like I’m stuck in some sort of time warp or something. I hate not being able to talk. I can’t hardly even punch when I’m on them, and the second fight is coming up quick. I’m gonna be beating like a dog if I’m not careful, and the city needs _something_.”

“I know,” Castiel sighs, sounding far too old. “God, do I know that we need something to believe in.”

“Please,” Dean pleads. “Just one day. Let me be back to normal for one day, Cas, I want…” his voice trails off, and when he talks again, it cracks like he’s about to cry. “I want to be able to feel you again. I hate being numb.”

“Oh, Dean…”

There’s the soft rustle of clothes, as if they’re burrowing together in a hug.

“I know you feel a lot better today,” Castiel’s voice says, slightly muffled. “I know it’s one of your good days, but it’s just… seeing you in the hospital, barely able to blink- It terrified me, Dean. So before you decide to go off completely, call Missouri. Ask if you can do half today, rather than all of it.”

There’s a soft sigh, and more clothes rustling. “Thank you, angel.”

There’s a soft kiss, and Samandriel feels himself blushing ferociously. He doesn’t understand how his brother so easily kisses another man, how he just brushes past the taboo, but he kind of likes that both of his newly returned brothers are strong enough not to give a damn.

He waits five minutes, and when he deems it long enough, slips into the empty kitchen and then up the stairs to get dressed for the day.

/\/\

When Dean walks into the gym, the place goes ballistic.

Everybody from the scrawny kid who hands out towels to Tiny come and clap him on the back, wish him well, pull him into hugs. He’s not at 100%, but seeing the look of faint pride on Victor’s face is enough. Sensei Hansen, curiously enough, is also at the gym, and ends up being the one to hold the bag for him while Victor runs him through some slow but intensive technique training.

“Lift your arm a little higher- yes, good, and rotate your wrist. See? Feel the difference? Straightforward punch- what are you doing with your feet? You haven’t been out that long, Dean, get your shit together and focus. Sensei, if you’d push the bag towards him- yes. See? You have resistance, but because of the way you’re punching, the resisting force will roll straight through you.”

“You been giving him lessons, Sensei?” Dean pants, and Sensei Hansen laughs. 

“We spar most afternoons. Nothing big, just your average MMA style.”

“Dean, pay attention to your form. Push that foot farther out, balance,” Victor instructs. “And for a skinny guy who drinks leaf water and doesn’t believe in violence for violence’s sake, he can sure kick ass. For God’s sake Dean, what are you doing with your hand? The hell is this? You’re out for a week and you lose your whole focus?”

“Sorry, sorry.”

With every punch he lays on the bag, he can feel calm returning. Alastair never belonged to boxing, just as Alastair never belonged to a peaceful group who happened to do a lot of throws. Sensei Hansen’s corded muscles bulge as he holds the bag, and Dean finds himself breathing easier. The love of his life is safe, well protected by himself and with those closest to him.

Maybe, he can start daring to look up again.


	11. Part 11

The thing about boxing gloves is that people don’t realize just how much it hurts to be hit by someone wearing them. You think “Oh, it’s just a really fluffy glove to protect the other person’s hand and your face” and that, friend, is where you are wrong, and Dean Winchester desperately wants to let the world know it.

Mostly because he’s just been slammed hard in the face, and the thing about professional gloves? They’re not as padded as you think. In fact, because they protect the hand so well, it is incredibly easy for the opponent to suffer no damage while Dean very nearly stumbles back, head roaring as pain courses through him like molten lava.

He’s going to be bruised.

Cas is going to be pissed. 

The guy he’s fighting is quick, with intent eyes and a snarl on his lips. They circle each other warily, Dean’s hackles up when he sees the intensity the man is giving off. He came to win, and leave with Dean’s blood on his gloves, and with the state he’s in, that’s liable to happen. The crowd is a screeching, roaring mass- he doesn’t have the same support here that he has at home, and they’re blood-hungry. Crowds get like that, sometimes, drawing on old, angry parts of them that they don’t remember. A crowd like this is feral and dangerous, just as likely to kill each other as him.

There’s a glint in the others eye, and Dean barely blocks ( _thank you, Castiel, for drilling me on that for four hours_ ) before he’s leaning in and punching hard, right at the sternum. It’s a cheap shot and he knows it, but the guy is a slugger/outboxer and likely to simply whale on him if he’s not very careful.

Sluggers like to get in close, go for straightforward viciousness until the person is pummeled to the ground, and yet he’s backing off to watch, like a cat playing with a mouse. Dean’s pissed. Not for the first time of the night he wants to just grab the guy, spin him in one of Castiel’s fancy Aikido moves, and just pin him til it hurt.

He draws on the anger, settles himself, and focuses.

Where outboxers are normally true boxers, going in and out and gaining rapid points, this guy has everything that screams “slugger” about him. He’s vicious and particularly hard hitting, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he could see that gleam of intelligence buried under bloodlust, Dean would call him an animal. But the guy does have weak points, everyone does, and Dean’s a boxer-puncher. His whole job is to be the wild card, and tonight, well. He has a city on his shoulders, a man in his bed, and two kids who seem to think he hung the moon listening on the radio to him fight for the first time.

He’s winning this damn fight.

So he moves.

There’s something cathartic about letting loose your rage on someone you know can take it.

Sharp hooks, jabs, straightforward thrusts and hard, heavy hitting crosses all blur together as a body is slammed viciously by gloves that may as well be rocks, and the crowd goes wild. Dean can’t hear them, just keeps up the ferocious flurry while his opponent lands a few of his own, flesh rippling and breaking and finally-

A knockout.

The world rushes back into focus with screams and yells and roars.

/\/\

Victor fumes all the way home as Dean leans against the passenger side window, a bag of peas on his face. He’s ranting about the opponent, who won on points versus the knockout that Dean had managed, but Dean’s not listening. He got the city what they wanted, a proper knockout. He didn’t win, but he made it so that the city feels vindicated and happy. Crime rates will be down for a week, the mayor will probably call and congratulate him, and a mysterious bottle of scotch likely procured by the city’s finest boys and girls in blue will make its way to his doorstep. Now, he can feel the slow burn of a crash starting, the endorphins that had flooded him starting to recede and leave him floundering while he tries to even back out.

Finally, he can’t take it anymore and says tiredly, “Would you please just drive?”

Victor reluctantly shuts up, flicking on the radio to a classic rock station and Dean relaxes a little, closing his eyes and focusing on mentally licking his wounds. It’s been a while since he’s lost a bout.

He loses time, and before he realizes it they’re at Gabriel’s house. Victor shakes his shoulder a little rougher than necessary to really wake him up, and Dean grumbles, getting out of the rental to stumble up the steps and fumble the door open. They’d left it unlocked, mostly because Castiel is sitting in the front room, glasses perched on his nose as he types. Dean watches him for a moment. He always forgets that Castiel actually works, has a job and everything. His life revolves around Aikido, and the little students that he’s taken on to teach the smooth, sweeping forms.

“Hey, Cas,” he says softly, and Castiel looks up, relief immediately washing over him.

“God, Dean,” he breathes, putting the laptop aside to jump up and go to him. He hugs him gingerly, and Dean burrows his face into his neck, relieved at the smell of Gabriel’s girly soap and the underlying smell that’s simply Castiel. “I was listening on the radio, it sounded terrifying.”

“It wasn’t too bad,” he shrugs with a wince, smiling when Castiel’s hand comes up to run through his hair, searching his face. “Hey, angel, look, I’m fine.”

“You’re pretty bruised up, though,” he murmurs, kissing him softly. “Come to bed, my love.”

“You’ve been reading Shakespeare,” Dean accuses. “You only talk like that after you’ve gone on one of your culture binges.”

“Yes, I have.” Castiel pinches him, because he’s a pissy little shit like that, but he’s smiling. “Tell me I’m pretty, Dean.”

“Since I am unwed, I would like to take you in a manly fashion,” Dean tells him, grinning as he pulls him in for a slow kiss.

“Cause I’m pretty?” Castiel asks when he pulls back, eyes crinkled up in a way that Dean absolutely adores past words.

“Cause you’re pretty,” Dean agrees, and kisses him once more. “Now, you said something about bed…”


	12. Part 12

“Are you happy, Cas?” Dean asks him when they’ve stopped panting, and the scent of sex begins to dissipate. Castiel’s curled up, head on his chest and eyes closed, a small smile on his face.

“Happy? Very,” he murmurs, fingers going to find Dean’s hand. “It’s been a very long time since I’ve felt this good.”

Dean smiles, hand stroking over Castiel’s back, and really, it does feel good to be here like this. They’re safely enclosed in this little room, away from the world that wants them both in ways that they can’t reconcile, and everything is good now. Granted, it won’t be tomorrow, when Dean has to go back to the dosage he’s normally at and everything slows down, but for now he’s happy and content. Castiel nestles in closer to him, and they shift and adjust, eyes closing.

It’s a little odd, still, to be in bed with a man, but Castiel’s hardly the first. It took a burly, openly gay cell mate in prison who was bored and willing to talk to get him to figure out that he wasn’t as straight as he’d initially thought, and a few one night stands eager to teach, but he’d settled into this curious new world without much of a fight. Sure, there were people who’d try to rile him up, call him every name in the book, but to hell with that, he was happy. (Also getting laid pretty damn often by a guy who could do _things_ with his tongue that Dean’d never seen before so hah!)

It’s soothing, having Castiel’s reassuring weight on him, his long legs tangled up with Dean’s, and it makes Dean laugh when he tries to burrow into his chest, fluffy hair tickling the bottom of his chin. They’re so damn _sappy_ together, and it’s the best thing in his life.

They fall asleep like that, utterly content.

/\/\

The nightmares start about 2 hours later.

It’s to be expected- you don’t get kidnapped and tortured without coming out in serious pain mentally. But the nightmare starts out simple enough, not full of blood or spilled guts. It’s just a nice, soft morning in the old house, the white walls glowing softly in the morning light. They’re out on the veranda, Dean and Castiel, safely curled up on a long, wide couch. Dean is snoring in his ear, their bare bodies tangled softly together. Castiel rises after a clock chimes five times, deep, booming knells running though the house and making the rocks that formed the veranda shiver. He walks softly through the wide white rooms, letting big, beautiful clean curtains run over him as the breeze sweeps over him, making the beautiful cotton rush over his skin. He glances at their portrait, the family all gathered together and happy, and he smiles.

There’s a soft dripping sound from behind him, and he turns, suddenly in the kitchen, and Michael is calmly skinning a pig. The pig floats in midair, turning slightly, and Castiel sits at the counter, watching curiously.

“What are you doing?”

Michael’s eyes are flat when he looks at him. “I’m making you dinner, brother. You do like ham.”

“I like ham,” Castiel agrees, watching the blood drip to the floor in a puddle. “Brother? Do you…”

“Do I, Castiel?”

“I made you hurt, because you hurt me,” Castiel said seriously. “Do you want to kill me?”

Michael looks at him, eyes flat, smile blank, and says, “Castiel, brother…”

The knife drips blood. 

“You’re already dead to me.”

And Castiel watches as Zachariah appears and slits his own throat, pushing him down on to the counter as Michael goes back to skinning the pig. His body twitches a few times, blood pooling on the counter, and he finds himself screaming, screaming, screaming-

“CAS!”

And then he’s awake, gasping and sobbing, and Dean’s holding him close, whispering soft words to him. They rock back and forth for a minute, Castiel’s hands fluttering over Dean’s face and his own throat, shuddering at the vivid image pressed into his eyes of his own body bleeding out.

It’s a long time before he lets himself be pulled back down to listen to the thud of Dean’s heart, the heavy thump-a-thump of muscle keeping his love alive.

/\/\

2 more nightmares, equally brutal, and then Castiel’s sitting in the dining room with a massive cup of steaming coffee. Dean’s puttering around the kitchen, cooking breakfast when Ion and Samandriel barrel down the stairs to skid into the kitchen.

“Morning, Cas!” Samandriel rushes around the table to hug him tight from behind, and the stress lines already are fading from around Castiel’s eyes at the sight of his family.

“Good morning, Alfie,” he says softly, relaxing, and Ion hugs him as well.

“You okay, Cas?”

Castiel shakes his head, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “I didn’t sleep well. Is today your first day at school?”

“Yep!” Samandriel bolts around the counter to stare greedily at the food that Dean’s working on. “Can we have pancakes too?”

“Yes, you can have pancakes,” Dean grins, ruffling his hair. “I’ll even let you have ice cream with them.”

Samandriel lets out a little shriek and grabs plates to start setting the table as Ion sits down next to Castiel, looking worried.

“Cas,” he says, clearly worried, “Should we get you anything? Do you need us to go and get you any teas or something?” He reaches over, hands fluttering helplessly around Castiel, and Castiel smiles, shaking his head.

“You’re good to worry, but I don’t need anything. I’ll be fine.”

In the kitchen, Dean rolls his eyes but says nothing, because he knows exactly how long it’s going to take before he can wrangle Castiel in to talk to Missouri, but it doesn’t matter, because everyone is piling in, Sam is yammering in his ear, and everything isn’t good, but it’s getting better.


	13. Part 13

The trial is short.

It takes place exactly 2 months after Castiel is kidnapped, and he watches his brother and uncle be led away in handcuffs and orange, and afterwards he breaks down. Meg and his family are standing right behind him, and Benny stands up with his wife to come forward and talk quietly with them while Dean holds him tight. None of the other brothers are there, but Ion and Samandriel- _Alfie, Cas, call me Alfie!_ – are there with Gabriel, so they hug him when Dean finally releases him from the bone crushing hugs he’s so fond of. 

They all go out to eat after, partially in celebration of the bastards being put away and partly because it’s the first time in almost a month that Castiel’s truly been hungry. Benny cooks them all food on the house, Meg sits and teases Alfie, the prostitutes all come to tell them how glad they are to see him in such good spirits (because Castiel talks to the girls who nobody likes, fuck you all sideways), and Ion never quite knows where to look when Dean gets up to dance with the girls and Castiel. It’s a good night. Everyone laughs raucously, leans on each other, and generally has a hell of a good time.  
And that night, Dean and Castiel go back to Dean’s place for the first time in a good two months, luggage from Gabriel’s house in hand. They may have been living there, but it’s not the right place for them now. Now, it’s finally time to go back to Dean’s place.

They sleep easy for the first time in months, Castiel’s head pillowed on Dean’s chest as they both snore, completely unaffected by nightmares.

/\/\

“I think you should move in.”

Castiel pauses in the middle of raising his mug to his lips. It’s the morning after the trial, and sunshine is streaming into the warm apartment. Dean’s place is open and airy, with comfortable, heavy furniture. It’s a bit on the minimalist side, but it’s cozy and soothing, and there’s a punching bag hanging in the corner next to a framed print of Vonnegut’s birdcage. It’s a safe place, even though he was torn from it That Night. Somehow, despite the violation, it’s still a safehouse, a port in the storm.

“It’s just that we’ve basically been living together for two months already and we’ve done all this shit and you’ve been there for everything and sure neither of us are perfect but we’re good together y’know and-” Dean’s babbling, eyes scared and trying to hide it, and all Castiel can do is lean across the tiny breakfast table that’s been stuck in a corner and kiss him, smiling.

“Yes,” he says when they part, eyes soft. “I think we should.”

Dean melts.

/\/\

It’s easy to move all of Castiel’s things. There aren’t a whole lot of them, after all, since he’d lived in a studio smaller than Gabriel’s living room. It’s a half-day affair, done after the boys get out of school so they can come help. Alfie’s so enthused to be able to spend time with his brother that he ends up mostly just trailing behind him, chattering on and on like a small, adorable monkey. They give up trying to get him to help, and wrangle Ion and Sam into moving the no longer necessary bed down to one of the homeless shelters with the Impala. Gabriel sits and eats candy while needling them all for not holding things right while Dean needles him for not helping. Victor and Sensei Hansen drop by to watch and bring housewarming gifts (lube, condoms, and the gay Kama Sutra, which makes Castiel squeak and Dean go brilliantly red as they hide the bag from a curious group of onlookers), and Tiny comes to help them get the new dresser up to Dean’s apartment.

They make some space in the closets, rearrange half the furniture to fit in a ratty chair that Castiel refused to leave, and when it’s all done they flop down on the couch with an air of satisfaction. The place is _theirs_ now, the bookshelves stuffed with Castiel’s cheap paperbacks and Dean’s battered copies of the classics. It’s perfect.

Dean kisses his temple, and Castiel settles into his side with a happy sigh.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Castiel says, a little sleepily. “And now we’re done.”

“Now we’re done,” Dean agrees, running his fingers through Castiel’s hair. “C’mon, bed. You’ve barely got your eyes open, and you’re not gonna sleep on the couch the first night here.”

“Not the first time I’ve slept here,” Castiel mumbles, burrowing in closer. Dean chuckles at the sulky way he says it, and kisses the top of his head.

“You know what we didn’t do?” he murmurs.

“What?”

“I didn’t carry you over the threshold,” Dean says, and Castiel looks up, his expression softening.

“We aren’t married,” he reminds him, smiling. “But if you’d like, you could carry me into the bedroom to appease your traditional side.”

Dean chuckles, and pretty soon they’re both laughing as he carries Castiel through the small doorway, barely making it. They collapse onto the bed, and Dean finds himself smiling at Castiel, who looks happier and lighter than he ever has in all the time Dean’s known him. He’s come so far from the stiff, hard-nosed man he’d been when they first met, and God, has it only been 6 months? 

“Happy is a good look for you,” he says softly, and Castiel’s smile broadens.

“I like it,” he agrees softly. “I go back to teaching tomorrow.”

“Yeah?” Dean’s hands worm under his shirt, tugging it off, and Castiel returns the favor. “Missed the little demons?”

“They aren’t demons, even if they did gang up on you that one time,” Castiel scolds teasingly, hands running over Dean’s body and tickling him quickly just to hear him squeak and get him to squirm. “You are so very ridiculous, you know that?”

“I do know that,” Dean says, smiling impishly as he ditches his jeans and socks, not bothering to try and tickle back. (Castiel, it seems, has no ticklish spots. It’s completely unfair.) “Now, c’mon, let’s go to bed. It’s been a long day.”

Castiel snorts, shucking his off as well. “Must have been, if you’re urging me to sleep rather than ride you into oblivion.”

Dean sputters, because he still can’t get past Castiel’s frank way of speaking, and Castiel simply laughs, pulling him under the covers. They settle together, foreheads touching and bodies entwined as sleep, warm and heavy, drapes soft arms around them and pulls them down into deep, dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this doesn't get updated for a while, it's on account of NaNoWriMo.


	14. Part 14

Inias shows up out of the blue one quiet Wednesday afternoon, shortly after Gabriel’s returned home from teaching his dance class. Castiel had joined him that day, practicing silently in the back and accepting his direction where necessary. It had been a hard day, one of Castiel’s bad ones when he was too focused on old goals and the horrors that happened. His legs were more stiff then they had been in years, and Gabriel pours himself a hefty drink when he gets home, just because he doesn’t envy Dean having to deal with his broken baby brother.

“I heard you lived here and I just had to know,” is the first thing Inias says when Gabriel slowly stumps to the door, his leg aching like it hasn’t in months. He gapes for a bit, staring at this stranger, this thin, gawky man with the sunken eyes and limp hair. This person is not the lively, enthusiastic boy he once knew, and it’s strange to see how his face has changed.

“What are you doing here?” he asks finally, and watches any bravado the man might have had crumble into tiny pieces on his stoop. It’s a thoroughly depressing sight.

  
“I just…” and oh no, no no no, the lip tremble is out in full force, “I just wanted to see you.”

And then Ion’s behind him, asking, “Are there any more apples?”, his voice trailing to nothing when he sees Inias on the porch in a poorly fitted suit and a bad haircut.

“Ion?” Inias asks hopefully, and Gabriel closes the door in his face.

Ion stands there, staring blankly at the door, like he’s not completely sure what to do with himself now. He’s carrying a small paring knife, one of Gabriel’s better ones, the grip a little too loose for comfort. Gabriel carefully takes it from him before saying, “You can talk to him if you want, just do it outside. I don’t want him in my house.”

Ion looks both crushed and elated, bolting for the door and throwing it open just as Inias went to knock again.

Gabriel leaves them to it, taking the knife to the kitchen as Samandriel- Alfie- whatever runs past him too, shrieking in excitement. His hands shake when he hears the door close, and it takes him two times to wash the knife. The second is because he slices his hand on accident, and as he stares dully at it, he can’t help but wonder why it all went wrong.

/\/\

_“…Hello?”_

“It’s Gabriel.”

_“…Gabriel, what the hell, are you alright? Did someone die? Was it Uriel?”_

“No one’s dead, Lu. I just… I thought I’d call you.”

_“…Call me. On my Paris number.”_

“I have custody of Samandriel and Ion now. I’m sure you heard about Michael and Zachariah.”

_“Yeah, I did… You took them in? What about Inias, surely he could’ve taken them? Or Raphael, or even Uriel. Why’d you take them?”_

“You didn’t mention Cas.”

_“Anyone with half an eye could see that Castiel wouldn’t want them. He’s not the family type.”_

click.

_“…Gabriel?”_

/\/\

“I don’t blame him,” is what Castiel tells him when they’re sitting out in his studio five days after Inias shows up. Castiel’s in his workout clothes, having just come from the dojo. Dean’s nowhere to be found today, probably off fighting bears to get himself ready for his next match. It’s a smaller one, very little prestige, but the money is big and Victor’s worked him into a training frenzy. Castiel, it should be noted, does not seem particularly pleased by this, but he keeps quiet. “I mean…After what I did, I’m surprised he even speaks my name.”

“You didn’t do anything, Cas,” Gabriel chides, and immediately knows that those are the wrong words to say, especially today.

Castiel’s head drops, and he mumbles, “Exactly,” in a tired voice. Gabriel just sighs, looking down at the floor and wondering how, exactly, he’d managed to mess things up again. Castiel’s been much better lately, infinitely more healthy and happy, finally alive again after so many years of hating himself.

“Cas, stop,” Gabriel says tiredly. “It’s done, let’s go on with our lives. Let’s move past the hatred.”

Castiel smiles humorlessly, standing up. “This from the man who wouldn’t even let his own brother through the door.” Gabriel cringes, shoulders slumping when Castiel heads for the door. “I’ll see you Sunday, Gabriel.”

“See you Sunday,” he says weakly, and buries his face in his hands as the studio door closes.

/\/\

“I never asked you to leave!” Castiel’s yelling downstairs and Gabriel is locked in his study, making a concerted attempt to read but not really focusing on it. He can’t, there’s a fight going on downstairs and his brothers are the center of it.

Muffled noises from Inias as he feels a headache starting to pound as he sits there in his comfortable couch. He turns a page of his book, trying to focus. It’s a classic- fuck, what the hell is he reading? He checks the title again. _Wuthering Heights_. Why the fuck is he reading this shit anyway? He doesn’t even like this book!

The door opens to reveal Alfie, clearly scared, and he quietly beckons his brother to him. Alfie bolts to him after shutting the door, burying his shaking body in Gabriel’s arms. He holds him tight as the yelling goes on, and holds Ion when he comes in a few minutes later, upset and nervous.

It’s a long time before the shouting dies down to talking, and by that point Ion and Alfie are asleep on his couch in the study, Ion’s head on his shoulder and Alfie’s in his lap, and he’s quietly crying over his sad, broken little family when both Castiel and Inias, each worse for the wear, open the door to look in on them. They’ve fought, clearly, their eyes tired and sad, but there’s a bit of healing to them now and so when Inias sits down to lean his head against Gabriel’s leg, looking up with those tired, dark-ringed eyes, he bursts into broken sobs.

They get the boys to bed after Alfie wakes up and clutches his older brother like he’s water in the desert, and Ion clings to them both. Castiel helps Gabriel up, and carefully takes him down to bed.

/\/\

They don’t talk about the fact that it was Castiel who inadvertently broke the family. It’s just not something people do. But that’s the truth, and it’s a hard truth to swallow. They put so many bets on him, knowing that he was a shoo-in, and then he wasn’t, he was just a broken boy with his head swaddled up in the coma ward, slowly drifting away.

There were a great many arguments about him, several shrieked outrages. With four parents (one father, three different wives) it was hard to keep track of who was blaming who when there were so many angry children involved as well. For Gabriel, the mistake child of the first wife so many years after the divorce, it was terrifying. There were threats to take them away from the father who loved them, threats to use the new children, little Ion and Samandriel, as weapons against him. But it worked out in the end. Michael and Lucifer left, followed shortly by Raphael and Uriel, and Gabriel was left with a brother in a coma, a young Inias, Ion, and tiny baby Samandriel. And soon, he didn’t even have those. He turned 18 and the last wife took Inias while Michael got custody of Ion and Samandriel. He was left with Castiel, broken, scared, not sure if he’d ever be able to walk again, let alone talk. His once lively, ferociously competitive brother had become a recluse, barely walking, rarely talking. He was mostly mute during that time.

And now, here Inias is again.

Things, Gabriel feels, might get ugly all over again.

Gabriel is afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this work is ongoing, but it is November, and thus NaNoWriMo. Sorry for the wait, those of you who are reading.


	15. Part 15

Sam is walking out of his Tax History class when he sees the man watching him. Years living on the wrong side of town have taught him to be cautious, and he hesitates when he feels eyes on him.

The man is tall and lean, dark skinned and hard eyed. He’s dressed in impeccable Valentino, and smiling a little. There’s something about him that screams American Psycho, and Sam shivers as chills roll down his spine. The man is powerful, anyone with eyes can see that, and he seems like the kind of person who doesn’t appreciate being told no. He knows men like him, remembers how Dean would pull him into the shadows whenever the long, sleek black cars had rolled up outside the windows of their apartments and lean, sleek men in perfectly pressed suits climbed out. They had been just like him. Those people were better than the mafia, and spoke quietly, with slight West and South African accents to their counterparts. They had been perfectly composed, and smiled with dangerously white teeth whenever he slipped past them to go to school, glittering eyes watching him almost hungrily.

Sam does not appreciate being looked at like he is meat.

So he straightens up and levels his gaze at the man, knowing he has a few good inches on him. The man smirks a little, and turns on his heel, walking back to a slick silver Audi that’s idling next to the coffee shop. Normally, Sam would go to the shop and get something to eat, but today it seems like this wouldn’t be the best idea.

Sam watches as he drives off, and wonders why he feels like he’s narrowly escaped death.

/\/\

“Something weird happened today,” Sam says as he holds the bag for Dean to punch. Dean’s not in the best mood today. He can tell, because he’s viciously working through footwork as he punches. Dean hates to do that.

“That so.”

“Yeah. There was this guy outside of class who was watching me.”

“Weird.”

“It really was,” he says, wincing as Dean gets a particularly vicious punch in. “He looked like he wanted to eat me up and spit out my bones so he could make toothpicks out of them and pick the leftover me out of his teeth.”

“That’s entirely too thought out.”

“I’m morbid.”

“You really are.”

Sam leans into the bag, thinking. “He was creepy. And he felt dangerous, y’know? Like the guys who used to do business outside Peach Trees when we lived there.”

“Who, the Namibians?”

“Nah, more like the Burkinabé . I liked the Namibians, they were nice. The Burkinabé scared me a lot more. They were tough and never liked me very much.”

Dean stops in his punching to give him a look. “You do remember that the Namibians were responsible for chopping off the hands of about 10 people, right?”

“Yeah, but Andimba helped me with my homework a few times. And he taught me how to flirt.”

_“What?”_

“Sorry, Dean, but you were a shit flirting teacher. Andimba knew what he was doing, I’m just saying,” Sam says with a shrug.

“Excuse you, I am fucking fan _tastic_.”

Victor’s voice barks over them all. “Dean! The hell’re you doing!? Get those feet moving!”

Dean scowls and hunkers back down, punching harder now. “I am _excellent_ at flirting, you dick.”

“You just keep telling yourself that, Dean.”

/\/\

Sam can’t help but smiling when Alfie runs up to hug him when he gets to Gabriel’s house, talking a million miles a second about how he’s finally gotten a good grade in a class he’s been struggling with. Gabriel’s sitting in the living room, cane leaning against his chair as he reads, glasses perched on his nose. There’s a bowl of candy next to him on the small table, and he pops a skittle into his mouth as Sam and Alfie come in.

“Hey there,” he says with a smile, tipping his face up expectantly for a kiss. Sam grins and obliges him, making Alfie squeak and cover his eyes. The boy, sheltered so long by Michael, is still adapting to the openness of affection in the house. “Did you have a good day?”

“A strange day,” Sam admits, sitting in the seat on the other side of the table, stealing one of the taffies. “There was a guy watching me when I got out of class today. Kind of rattled me.”

“What’d he look like?” Alfie asks eagerly, sitting cross-legged at his feet. He’s so eager to please, curious about the world and everything in it. Gabriel is wealthy enough to put them in a private school, like the one they had been in, but after much pleading the boys are now going to public school. Alfie finds this particularly thrilling. Ion’s just happy he didn’t have to wear a uniform.

“Tall, much taller than Gabe,” Sam teases, catching the m&m that Gabriel tosses at him. “He was African American, very handsome. He was wearing Valentino. And he moved like a predator.”

“People can be like predators?” Alfie asks as Gabriel goes still.

“Oh yes,” Sam nods. “Michael moves like a predator. You know, how he prowls and watches people so closely?”

Alfie shivers and nods. “It was scary,” he says.

“Exactly-”

“Can I talk to Sam by myself for a second, Alfie?” Gabriel interrupts, his eyes dark. The two look over at him, surprised, and Alfie nods slowly, a little confused as he scrambles up and goes into the kitchen. Gabriel waits until he’s gone to stand up and go over to one of the shelves, pulling down a slim volume. Flipping open the pages, he slowly walks back and shoves it in Sam’s face. It’s a photo album, and there’s the man from before.

“That’s him,” Sam says, surprised. The man is younger by a good many years, and looks kinder and gentler. He’s sitting on a couch with Castiel, and is dressed in a t-shirt emblazoned with a bright, cheery green apple and some kanji. Castiel’s slumped down, wearing slacks and a dress shirt.

“I was afraid of that.” Gabriel snaps the book shut, sitting heavily down in his chair.

“Gabe?”

“His name is Raphael,” Gabriel says tiredly. “And he’s my third eldest brother.”


	16. Part Sixteen

“Raphael’s in the city,” is the first thing Gabriel says when Castiel groggily picks up the phone. He’s been napping for a good three hours, trying to recuperate after a nasty bout with a cold. “Be ready to move if I call, I don’t know what his motives are.”

Castiel sits up, pressing his back to the headboard. The headboard and frame of the bed are new, Dean’s way of showing off after he got the prize money from the latest bout. “I didn’t know Raphael was even in the country. You okay? Did he try anything?”

“He was watching Sam,” Gabriel says, his voice brittle. “I don’t trust him, Cas, not even a little bit. He’s out of our lives for nearly 15 years and just shows back up? No, he’s planning something. I don’t think he’ll try and pull something like Michael did, but I’m worried about the boys.”

Castiel frowns, rubbing his forehead. The world is muddled and uncomfortable- he’s tired and sick and not at his best. There are plenty of things he’d like to say, but as he sits there, he can’t get anything out but, “I’ll be careful, Gabe. Promise.”

“Good,” Gabriel says, and after a few minutes of terse chit-chat, hangs up.

Once Gabriel’s off the phone, Castiel stares blankly at the wall. Raphael in the city. His half brother, tall and dark and dangerous as a viper, stalking his boyfriend’s brother. This really can’t bode well. He remembers Raphael in the sort of vague, wavering idea of a person that you have after a long time of not seeing them. Raphael had been none too gentle with him when he was younger, he remembered that. Even when he was the darling child, he’d stayed away from him in fear. Raphael would twist his arm and make it hurt until he was begging for relief, and not in the way of the horsing around he did with the others. He liked inflicting pain, and he was good at it.

Dean walks in, damp from the shower, and his smile fades when he sees the expression on Castiel’s face.

“Cas? Everything okay?”

Castiel looks up at him, swiping at his face when he realizes there are a few stray tears streaking down his cheeks. “Oh. Um. No, actually.” It feels like a relief to say so. “Come here.”

Dean obliges, looking a little worried as he nests down beside him, laying down so that Castiel’s above him. It’s a subtle thing, but Castiel smiles when he realizes that Dean’s doing his best to make him feel like the one in control, make him feel safe. He reaches down and gently strokes through his hair, making Dean smile and lean into him, nuzzling against his leg. “One of my brothers is in town. Raphael. He’s from the second marriage.”

“Is he going to be a problem?” Dean asks, twining their fingers together.

“I don’t know,” Castiel admits. “Maybe. He’s a complicated person on the best of days.” He strokes through Dean’s hair. “But he is dangerous. Very dangerous. I was good at gymnastics, but he was deadly at Judo. He’s been well taught, and from what I understand, he still puts it to good use.”

“Well shit,” Dean muses, and Castiel can’t help but smile a little at that. Dean is matter-of-fact, and he loves him all the more for it. Honesty is so wonderful.

“Basically,” Castiel says, rubbing his free hand through his hair. “Apparently he was watching Sam the other day, which I’m not very excited about.”

“He was watching Sam?” Dean says, clearly worried. “Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel admitted. “It’s not really his style. Gabriel thinks that something’s up, maybe he wants to go after the boys, but I doubt it. He never had any interest in them.”

He thinks of his big, mixed family, and how tiny Samandriel had been when he was born. He thinks of Ion who was loud and brash until Zachariah started commenting on how rude loud little boys were. He thinks of Raphael, quietly controlling Uriel.

His skin crawls.

“We should pack bags,” he says, and Dean’s eyebrows raise. “In case he tries anything, I want to be able to run, and run fast.”

Dean, bless his paranoid heart, nods seriously. “Once I get dressed we’ll pack up.”

Castiel could marry this man.

oOo

The dojo is familiar and safe, so when Dean and Castiel start into their practice work, familiar kata stretching out muscles, Castiel feels the stress and the fear leech away. Dean’s presence is safety, and he slowly goes through the motions, letting his mind settle. This is his space, his place of work, his area of expertise. Nothing can take that from him.

As he stretches his arms, he thinks of how easy it once was for him to hop onto a beam and go through routines that could make grown men cry in their complexity. He thinks of his family in the stands, watching as he goes through the motions, each deliberate and poised. He thinks of Dean, in the hands of a Kung Fu master, trying to relearn old habits and change from pure violence to peaceful control.

Change is good.

A piece of him that’s held onto the hope that one day his family would give up and forgive him relaxes, letting go of a little chunk of the past, and he feels lighter than he has in months when he and Dean start practicing.


End file.
